Moving On
by pisces317
Summary: When Wilson is attacked, House must help him heal.  But how does one help another heal when he, himself, battles the same demons? H/W est. Wilson whump/sick!wilson. Previously titled "Attacks and Healing".
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **Attacks and Healing

**Summary: **When Wilson is attacked, House must help him heal. But how is a man who is so emotionally stunted as House supposed to help a very anxious Wilson when he's still trying to get over his own fear of what might have happened? H/W est.

**Rating: **PG-16 (Yea, that's right, I made my own rating. C: )

**Spoilers: **None really. It doesn't take place during any specific season.

**Disclaimer: **Not mine, just borrowing, hurting and comforting. **  
>Author's Note: <strong>None really, LOL. Just felt like hurting Wilson some and this came to mind. Hope you like it. Please Review and let me know. ;)

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><p>"Hey, you got a minute?" Chase asked, poking his dirty blonde head in through the door to Wilson's office.<p>

Wilson looked up from the drug trial information he was reading over. A couple of his patients could be great applicants for the trial but he wanted to make sure that everything actually checked out before he spoke to them about it. His neck creaked when he looked up and he brought a hand up to massage the stiffness. "Yeah, what's up?"

"Nothing actually," Chase replied as he walked further into the office and closed the door behind him. "Foreman and I were going to grab a drink after work tonight and we wondered if you wanted to join us."

"I wish I could but I think I'll be here far later than any of you." Wilson leaned back in his chair giving Chase his full attention. He really did wish he could go out tonight; he could use the break away from work. Since House left early to have dinner with his parents tonight, a dinner he didn't want to go and that Wilson wasn't invited to even though they were in a relationship, Wilson figured he could catch up on some things at work but soon the catch up became a swamp that sucked him in until only his head was left.

Chase nodded his understanding, his blue eyes roaming freely over the oncologist and his desk. Concern crept slowly into the irises when he noticed the signs of exhaustion dripping off the older man but he kept it in check, not wanting to offend him. "Okay just try not to stay here all night. You look tired and House would probably hold me responsible if you did."

Something in the way Chase finished his sentence made Wilson's eyes narrow in suspicion. "Did House put you up to getting me out tonight?"

"No," Chase answered with a half smile – a thing he always did when he lied making Wilson give him a disbelieving eyebrow raise. "Okay yes but it wasn't hard to convince us, well me. Foreman's indifferent either way."

"Oh well that makes me feel better." Wilson sat back forward, returning to his paperwork.

Chase offered a half smirk. He really didn't think that the oncologist was offended, years of putting with crap from House would have easily done away with becoming offended easily but he also wanted to let the man know that he wasn't inviting him just because his boss made him either. "How about tomorrow night or will you be busy with House?"

"I actually don't know what I'm doing tomorrow night so yeah, sure," Wilson answered, his brows drawn together briefly in confusion as his mind tried to recall if he had any plans for next evening.

"Great. Well I'll leave you to finish. We'll talk tomorrow about when and where tomorrow night?" Chase waited until Wilson nodded then walked out the door, closing it quietly behind him. He wasn't sure why but he was actually looking forward to tomorrow night. All he needed to do was get through the next twenty four hours.

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><p>Wilson shut the file on the last patient he wanted to get into the drug trial at fifteen minutes passed midnight, the paper slam echoing around his empty office louder than he meant. He rubbed his aching temples then let out a heavy sigh as he quickly packed up his things to get out of there as quickly as he could. He had an early meeting in the morning and he really wanted to get as much sleep as he could before then.<p>

House has been having a bad week with his leg, leaving Wilson to do as much of everything he could just to keep his friend relaxed and off his feet. Unfortunately it meant that Wilson had been essentially running himself ragged for the week, leaving him dead on his feet and in dire need of sleep.

He walked out of Princeton Plainsboro breathing in a deep sigh of relief as the cool September air wrapped around him, ruffling his hair as a breeze swept over and around him. In general Wilson loved it when the weather cooled; he was never one for heat and humidity so when fall came he found himself almost wishing he had a job that was done outdoors just so he could enjoy it. Hence why he parked further away from the building in the spring and autumn – it was a chance to enjoy his brief time outside before becoming cooped up in his office or the halls of the hospital.

Just as he reached his car door, footsteps sounded from behind him and the weight of another person slammed into him, pushing him roughly against his car. He let out a muffled 'oof' as the air quickly left his lungs, leaving him winded and panting. A strong hand grabbed his left wrist, yanking it behind his back, pinning his arm there as well, slowly applying more and more pressure until Wilson was sure his muscles had begun to slowly tear within the joint.

The point of a knife sliced through his clothing as it was pushed hard against his back, heading frighteningly close to his right kidney. Stinging told him that the point had managed to slice through the two bottom layers of his clothing and was now making its way into his skin.

"What do you want? Is it money? My wallets in the left breast pocket of my coat," Wilson half rambled, more scared than he liked to admit. He cried out as the knife entered deeper into his back. The pressure of the knife released and soon a hand clapped over his mouth and the grip on his wrist tightened as the attacker wrapped his hand closer around the joint and forced his shoulder to stretch further until he actually felt something tear.

"Make another sound and I'll make sure there's a reason for you to yell," a gruff voice warned in his ear. Never the less, the hand on his wrist changed and moved over to the breast pocket of his coat, grabbing all the cash, credit cards, and debit card from within it then threw it to the ground. It moved back to hold his wrist and the other hand that was previously holding to the limb moved to drag calloused fingers down the right side of his face in what could be called longing. "You sure are a pretty one, aren't you?"

The strong hands grouped together to grab his shoulders, spinning him around where he stood. Since he wasn't sure what his body was supposed to be doing, his feet originally remained planted where they were, momentarily twisting his right knee and harshly twisting his left ankle until he felt a slight pop. He cried out again in pain, unable to stop the sound from escaping and soon a dirty hand was clasped over his mouth.

The man before him was easily his height but also had another fifty pounds of what looked like pure muscle, making him easily able to hold Wilson against his car, pushing him against the cold, hard steel as he leaned his entire weight against Wilson's body, the attacker's groin grinding against his own in a violent manner that spoke of his next intentions.

Wilson decided his knee had a mind of his own as it slammed up into the other man's groin causing him to stumble back and groan in agony. He tried to step forward to further knock the attacker onto the ground so he could escape but his legs gave way under him, pain stabbing his hurt knee and ankle as they rolled like jelly and he landed hard on the ground.

"Hey," a blessedly familiar Australian voice called from a place that Wilson thought was far away. The sound of running feet told him that he may actually have been far away but was in fact coming closer with every passing second.

The attacker raised his head still curled around his groin but managed to get up and stumble away, easily escaping since Chase's attention was then turned onto Wilson himself.

"Wilson, are you alright?" Chase asked, kneeling down beside the fallen oncologist. He couldn't immediately see any injuries but that didn't mean there weren't any. He gently grabbed hold of Wilson's shoulders and helped ease him to where he was leaning against the car. There was pain reflecting in the soft brown eyes but once again, he couldn't see any injuries.

Wilson leaned his head against the cool metal behind him and slowly tried to slow his breathing. "Yeah, I'm okay," he answered opening his eyes to see a pair of concerned blue irises staring at him.

Chase remained quiet for a moment, studying the man before him with the ease of someone who's been working for House for far too long. "Come on, let's get you inside and get you checked out."

"No Chase, I appreciate it but I'm fine." Wilson got his feet beneath him, grimacing when his ankle screamed at him letting him know it didn't appreciate the weight it was being forced to take, and slowly eased off the cold, dirty ground. He reached out and grabbed his car door handle but quickly withdrew like he'd been burnt, his right hand coming up to cradle the left with a deep wince on his face.

"Yeah I can see that you're fine," Chase replied hiding a wince of sympathy behind the sarcasm in his voice. He waited to see if he'd received a response and when it became obvious that one wasn't coming, the intensivist let loose a sight, resigned to the idea that Wilson really just wanted to go home. "Do you need a ride home?"

"No I think I can handle it, thanks." Wilson used his right hand to open the door and climbed in, stifling a groan as best he could. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Chase let the oncologist leave not sure that he should have done so. Once the silver Volvo was out of sight, he pulled out his phone and dialed the only person Wilson would allow to help. When the line clicked with an answer he inhaled deeply and answered the annoyed question, "House, it's Chase."

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><p>Wilson arrived at the apartment twenty minutes later, tears dripping slowly out of his eyes like a leaky faucet. It had hurt far more than he had thought it would just to drive himself home but at least he wasn't stuck at the hospital where he'd probably end up sleeping so he wouldn't be late for his morning appointment; though whether or not he should actually go in in the morning was at this point debatable.<p>

Resigning himself to more pain, he opened the door and limped into the apartment, silently shutting the door in an attempt to not wake his lover. He jumped in shock when he turned on the light to find said lover sitting behind his piano apparently waiting for him to come home.

"Chase called," the diagnostician began like it was an everyday thing that one of his lackey's called when there wasn't an actual medical mystery that needed solving. "he said you'd been injured but wouldn't allow him to look you over."

Wilson sighed; he should have known Chase would tell on him. His brows furrowed, _'tell on me' what am I five? _"Because there wasn't a need to look me over; I'm fine."

"Yes I can see that by the heavy limp and eyes that are red from crying," House quipped getting easily off the piano bench and limping over to where Wilson stood, ready to fall over from exhaustion and pain. He grabbed his friend's elbow, careful to keep any concern from reaching his eyes as he slowly led the obviously injured man to the couch where he promptly collapsed with a groan. "Where are you hurt?"

"House, I'm fine. I just want a shower and to go to bed."

House eyed his friend for a few minutes before he gave a nod and said, "Okay, let's go!"

Wilson did a double take, wrinkling his brows in confusion. "What really?"

"Yeah, let's go to bed." He waited for Wilson to get off the couch, still eyeing him like he didn't trust him, before he slowly followed into their bedroom. His eyes watched clinically as the oncologist began stripping, noting every bruise and every pained reaction he gave to every movement he made.

He stepped up to Wilson, putting a hand on the younger man's arm, stilling his movements as he ran the hand up the arm and to the shoulder where painful bruising was slowly forming. Pianist fingers played lightly over the bruise, feeling for evidence of tears and breaks before the glided down the defined arm to where bruising and swelling could be found on the wrist.

Gently he pushed Wilson onto the bed then moved him so he was lying sitting up against the headboard so he could finish his examination but be allowed to sit and take weight of his damaged and currently very painful thigh. His hands moved tenderly down Wilson's right leg, easily spotting the slight swelling of the knee and began feeling around for potential damage. When he was satisfied that the joint was merely twisted and would be fine in a day or so, he moved his attention over to the left leg, taking a kind of sick pleasure in the way his lover's legs felt beneath his hands before they ended at the badly bruised and swollen ankle.

Wilson cried out as House's fingers ghosted over the injured joint and yanked his leg out of the grip, surprising the older man and making him draw his hands back in surprise. His face contorted into a frown as his medical mind registered that little amount of touch shouldn't cause that much pain.

"Hold still," House snapped hiding his concern easily behind anger, "I want to make sure nothing's broken."

Hesitantly he reached out again and pulled the leg back towards him, giving a brief look of apology before he resumed his examination. He blocked out Wilson's pained whimper as he pressed as lightly as he could against the ankle, frowning deeper when he felt the bones move beneath his touch. "Yep it's broken."

"What? Don't be ridiculous," Wilson responded gruffly behind clenched teeth. "He didn't jerk me around that hard, there's no way I could have broken my ankle; I got here just fine, if I'd broken my ankle I wouldn't have been able to do that."

"Don't be an idiot, you know as well as I do that it's possible for someone to break a leg or an ankle or a foot and still be able to bear weight on it," House snapped while he headed out of the room to grab some ice. He suddenly stopped, spun around and quickly headed back over to the bed, sitting down beside his lover's hip. "He? He who?" He waited for an answer to come but promptly continued, "Were you attacked?"

Wilson bit his lip to keep from reply and avoided House's gaze, hoping to hide the fear he still felt at the memory of his experience. He wished he could be strong like his friend and merely wave off the attack but he wasn't made that way and every time he remembered what happened, his heart sped up painfully fast and he felt the firm grip of anxiety take hold.

He didn't realize he was shaking until he felt tender hands close over him, pulling him in for a comforting embrace. The smell of House swirled around him and the feeling of House's stubble rubbing against the side of his head as he spoke calming words soon registered in his fear trapped mind, telling it that he was safe, quieting the fear so all that was left was tears.

House felt his shirt become drenched with salty tears but he didn't care. Holding Wilson's shaking form, feeling him breath (if not a little erratically) against his own chest, and just knowing that despite the random sprain, strain or break he was okay was enough for the taciturn diagnostician. He knew that no one at the hospital thought he had a heart and often wondered what Wilson saw in him but the two men knew how deeply his love for the oncologist actually went.

Before now, his mind hadn't actually wondered how Wilson had gotten hurt, it had only registered that he was and it wanted to know how badly. Now that he knew, generally at least, what had happened, his heart began frantically beating in his chest, his too quick brain running through images of what could have happened rather than what did. He saw Wilson lying pale, bruised, broken and bleeding in the hospital parking lot, dead by the time anyone found him and his chest constricted, cutting off any attempts to draw in air.

Wilson whimpered and stiffened underneath him and House snapped out of his fears and realized that he was currently trying to cuddle Wilson to death, applying painful pressure to tender injuries. "Sorry," he apologized, relaxing his hold enough that the younger man now simply lay against his arms, not tightly held in them.

"We should get you back to the hospital and get you checked out," he said, pulling even more away from the brown eyed man. "You shouldn't have left."

"I know," Wilson answered with a shuddering breath, trying to calm himself so he didn't start crying again. "I just really wanted to come home." _where it's safe. _His breath hitched again as more tears slowly made their way down his cheeks, unbidden and unwanted.

House pulled him closer again, his need to comfort himself almost as strong as his desire to comfort his lover. "I know," he whispered showing that he'd heard the rest of the sentence, "but we really need to see how much damage has been done. Don't worry, we'll be coming back soon where we'll be staying for a few days at the least."

"Promise?" Wilson asked with insecurity and pain shining brightly in his watery eyes. He cringed at how pathetic he sounded and waited for a harsh reply, pleasantly surprised when he felt House's arms momentarily tighten further in a gentle squeeze before he released his hold once more.

"I promise; even if I have to live in the clinic for a week."

"Wow, that's definitely a promise," Wilson joked hoping to put some normalcy back into his life. "Are you sure you'd be up for such torture."

"Yep, now let's get you dressed. We wouldn't want you showing up naked, the nurses would never let you leave." House got off the bed and grabbed a set of clothes for Wilson, complete with a loose pair of jeans and a tee shirt.

He sat back down on the bed and proceeded to help his friend get dressed, making sure to be extra careful around the obvious injuries. "There now that wasn't so bad," he encouraged. "Do you want to wear shoes or just slip on a pair of sandals?"

"Shoes," Wilson answered, panting from the energy it took just for him to get clothes on and the pain pulsing through his body with every beat of his heart. "It's too cold out for sandals."

House quickly grabbed a pair of socks and the closes pair of sneakers he could find then went back to the bed, frowning as he looked down at his lover's feet. The left one, having been released from within the confines of the shoe, had become badly swollen and now looked more like a polish sausage, almost the same color and all, rather than a foot. Not really sure who was controlling his body nor where the sympathetic pain in his chest came from, House lightly ran his fingers over the injured limb as if petting it would make it feel better instead of causing more pain.

"I don't think a sock in the world is going to fit over that foot," he said though he knew that Wilson probably already knew that. He did however place a sock and a shoe over the other foot, offering small apologetic glances when he'd accidentally jerk the leg, causing pain to lance up from the slightly injured knee.

Wilson groaned and yelped a few times when House's elbow accidentally knocked against his swollen foot, nudging the broken, painful ankle, but otherwise remained still knowing the older man wasn't meaning to hurt him. When House finished tying his right shoe, he watched in astonishment as the diagnostician gently placed a couple soft kisses of apology upon the exposed foot then immediately left, leaving a puzzled Wilson still sitting on the bed.

The puzzle was soon solved as House returned with a pair of very old looking crutches. "I still have these from the infarction, thought you could use them now since I doubt you'll be able to tolerate any weight on that ankle."

"Thanks," Wilson responded truly grateful. Going by how much House's feather light touches had hurt, House was right about the weight bearing and he wasn't too keen on trying either. His entire body groaned and cried when he moved but none of it was as bad as the agony that shot up from his ankle with ever thudding step he took.

"Ready?" House asked, standing by the front door, patiently waiting for his injured friend.

"Yeah," Wilson answered, fatigue already beginning to claw at him. "Let's get this over and done with."

"After you gimpy," House mocked, pulling open the door and using his arm to wave Wilson out the door.

Wilson ignored the comment and proceeded out to the car, looking forward to when they would be back home and in bed. He really didn't want the looks of concern he would get from whom ever was working in the ER tonight but he realized he needed to get his injuries seen to so he grudgingly lowered his pain ridden body into the car and waited for House to finish placing the crutches in the backseat and get into the car. God was it time to come back home yet?

**TBC**


	2. Chapter 2

The sounds of the rings on the curtain that separated Wilson's bed from the next sliding across the metal bar above his bed sounded admitting a rather frazzled looking Lisa Cuddy. Her form fitting jeans were worn over black sandals and atop it lay a white sweater accented by a black necklace. Her frizzy hair was loosely held in a ponytail and her face was clean of any make-up.

"Why Doctor Cuddy, what are you doing here?" House chirped faking cheeriness while being as quiet as he could as Wilson slept on the bed beside him.

"How is he?" she asked ignoring his irrelevant question.

"He's fine, something I told you when I called you to tell you that we would need the next week off," House answered his tone suggesting she really didn't need to be here.

"Well forgive me for being concerned when you call and tell me that my friend, and coincidentally my head of oncology, is currently in the ER after being mugged in my hospital's parking lot." She walked up to the bed, grabbing the chart that lay at the foot of it and perused it for the list of what was wrong with her friend. Pulled muscle in left shoulder, Grade I left wrist sprain, twisted right knee, broken left ankle, and laceration that had already stopped bleeding by the time they'd gotten to him in his back. None were life threatening or life altering but he would have pain with movement until his wrist and knee had a chance to heal more.

"I told you he was fine, what more did you really need to know?" House asked still keeping his voice low. He sat on Wilson's right since the left arm was currently in a sling to give the shoulder some rest and time to heal and his wrist was currently in a brace which would make it hard to hold his hand. It made it harder for him to stretch out on this side but thanks to his long legs and Wilson's injuries being mainly on the left side, it was still manageable.

Cuddy gave a long look at Wilson lying in the bed bruised and broken then returned her look onto House. "I hardly think that," she motioned her head at Wilson's bed, "counts as fine. What did he tell you happened?"

"Nothing," House answered slipping his hand out of Wilson's so he could escort Cuddy out of Wilson's room. He gave a deep grimace when his thigh burned with pain. It had been hurting a lot more than normal this week and today was the first day it had begun to feel a little bit better but it still wasn't tip top. When Wilson had come in injured and, apparently, in shock all thoughts of his own pain had been forgotten, until now.

They'd gotten to the ER relatively quickly thanks to it being late at night and no one was out and House pulled up right in front of the door. He'd gone inside to get a wheelchair, leaving a very tired and pained Wilson in the car trying to nap off the exhaustion. There had been a lot of groaning and whimpering on Wilson's part as he switched from the car to the chair and by the time he was settled there were silent tears trickling down his eyes.

During his trip out of the car and into the wheelchair, Wilson had gotten his foot caught on the foot rest giving the broken ankle a good yank in the completely wrong direction when he turned around to sit down. He'd actually yelled in pain then, tearing House's heart in two along with it.

Thankfully it had been a slow night in the ER and the current attending was able to see Wilson quickly and got him a dose of pain meds that helped to dampen the pain he was in before they wheeled him to radiology to get MRI images taken of his shoulder, wrist, knee, ankle and foot then X-Rays of the ankle and foot before they returned him to the bed in the ER to wait for the scans to come back.

Wilson had been dozing on and off since, barely waking when they came to brace his wrist and put his arm in the sling. They hadn't come to take care of the ankle yet but it was currently elevated on a couple of pillows with two ice packs covering the foot and the ankle.

House hissed when his thigh screamed at him again, his step faltering in response to the pain that radiated throughout his leg and hip. He leaned heavily on his cane for a moment, waiting for the pain to calm then he heard a jump in the heart monitor and turned around to find Wilson slowly waking up.

"House, you okay?" he mumbled sleeping, shifting to try to get comfortable. He looked around and gave a small smile when he saw his boss standing in the doorway. "Hey Cuddy, what are you doing here?"

House laughed at Wilson's question, giving Cuddy a pointed look that she wisely ignored. "House called and said you were in the ER. I was worried and thought I'd come down and make sure you're okay. How are you feeling?"

"Better though I have a feeling that's because of the Percocet currently flowing through my veins." He tried to give a smile of assurance but it quickly turned into a grimace as the pain in his ankle was making itself known. His body stiffened in response to the pain and he growled an, "Ow," out as his right hand rubbed soothingly at his right thigh.

"I'm guessing the pain meds are currently wearing off," Cuddy surmised, walking up to administer more. She was only mildly surprised that House didn't automatically rush to do it at the first hint of pain from Wilson. It wasn't expected at all but it would have been nice to see House show concern for Wilson; she knew that House cared for Wilson but he never showed it, almost making her wish he'd overreact just once and show how much they all knew he loved the oncologist.

Multiple footsteps sounded behind them and Cuddy turned around to see the current attending and a nurse coming towards them. The attending held a splint in his hand and the nurse held a syringe full of something that Cuddy assumed was an anesthetic. She hadn't seen Wilson's ankle because it was currently covered in ice packs but given how much pain the attending wrote that Wilson was in, it needed setting.

"Doctor Cuddy, good morning," Jacobsen greeted as he stepped into the curtained area.

"Good Morning Jack, do you need us to leave?"

"If you wouldn't mind, yes. Not that I think you and Doctor House are in the way but we prefer to do this without friends and family watching, I'm sure you understand." Jacobsen walked to the foot of Wilson's bed while the nurse raised the head. He removed the ice packs, giving Cuddy a chance to see the badly swollen lower leg and misplaced bones in the ankle.

House growled at the fact that he was being kicked out but followed along with Jacobsen's orders and limped over to the nurse desk in the middle of the room, watching from a distance.

"When you called you didn't say how badly the ankle had been broken," Cuddy commented as they watched Jacobsen re-set the ankle with a loud, sickening _SNAP _and a brief but loud cry from Wilson.

"It wasn't that bad when I'd examined him," House defended almost sounding insulted. "He caused more damage trying to get into the wheelchair when we got here. He's such a klutz."

"So why didn't you help him into the wheelchair so something like that didn't happen," Cuddy asked bristling at how easily House could brush off Wilson's pain. Her hackles lowered slightly when his demeanor changed to defeated, his shoulders slumped, and his cerulean blue eyes turned ice with anger. She knew the answer then and there – he couldn't; he physically couldn't help his friend and lover when he needed it and it was killing him.

Jacobsen chose that moment to come up to them, leaving a once again sleeping Wilson on the bed behind him. "You're welcome to take him home once he wakes up," he told House trying not to sound comforting since he knew the diagnostician hated it. "We've set and splinted his ankle, as you know he'll need to come back in a few days to get a plaster cast set on his leg to hold the bones in place. Until then he'll just need to be very careful while he's moving around – the bones could easily become displaced again if he should be unfortunate enough to catch the foot on something and pull." He focused his attention on Cuddy since he knew she'd need to know this next part. "I wouldn't recommend him returning to work for at least a week though I'd prefer closer to two. It should give his shoulder and knee enough time to heal to be able to support his weight so he can easily get around on crutches."

"Thank you Jack," Cuddy said, dismissing him with ease but still letting him know that he was appreciated. She honestly didn't know if she'd be able to keep Wilson away from his patients for a full two weeks. The only time she'd ever managed to do that was when he'd gotten the LDLT done and even when he had returned he was still in enough pain to keep him fairly immobile. "Do you need help getting him home?"

House had half heartedly listened to Jacobsen's clinical explanations so he'd heard the warning about making sure Wilson was careful of his ankle until they could get the cast on and as much as it killed him to admit it, he would need the help if just to make sure Wilson got into the car with as little pain as possible. Unable to actually form the words, he settled for a nod before scurrying off back to Wilson's side.

Cuddy followed him wordlessly knowing that small admission had hurt his pride and they sat in comfortable silence watching their friend sleep.

They'd been watching for thirty minutes and just as House debated waking Wilson up so they both could go home and get off their feet, the man himself started to stir.

"House?" Wilson called so softly that Cuddy just wanted to crawl on bed with him and hold him like the scared little boy he sounded like.

"I'm here Wilson," House assured gently, using his spare hand to brush the stray hairs off his friend's face. "Are you ready to go home?"

Wilson gave a smile that spoke of pure joy and a little bit of haziness from the drugs he was on. "Home sounds great."

"Cuddy's going to help; gotta make sure you don't hurt yourself again. My ear drums are still trying to recover from the last girlie scream you made." Cuddy could tell House was trying to joke around like he normally would but she could also tell that Wilson just wasn't in the mood right now.

"Like you're one to talk," Wilson countered with a frown, "How about I punch you in the thigh when you don't have any pain meds coursing through you to dull the pain, see how you like it?"

House sobered at his suggestion, his mind trying to determine just how much that would hurt. He'd probably scream, he knew that but he actually thought it hurt more to know that was how badly Wilson was hurting than the pain itself actually did. Solemnly he leaned down and gave Wilson's uninjured hand a soft, tender kiss of apology. "How are you feeling? Do you need more pain meds before we start moving you?"

"I think I'll be alright," Wilson answered as Cuddy raised his bed. He'd appreciated House's gentle apology and not the first time in his life wished that kisses could soothe hurts and heal wounds. If they did, House would have been walking and running and jumping like a normal guy months ago.

They'd started this relationship almost a year ago but it had taken both men a long time to get to the point where they were willing to go further than just heavy petting. Wilson was nervous because while he'd 'made love' to many women, he'd never been with a man and he so desperately wanted to please his partner than he would experience a panic attack every time the subject came up. However House had finally managed to break through his insecurities and assure him that even without practice, Wilson already pleased him – they were just taking things one teensy step further.

House's insecurities Wilson knew all too well. The deformed thigh often brought problems for the diagnostician – it was often the reason the diagnostician chose to have sex with hookers. They were paid to sleep with him no matter what his body looked like so he didn't have to worry about scaring them off.

One night the two men were getting ready for bed, they'd had a busy day and were exhausted so very little had been done when they'd arrived home besides making some small form of dinner then going to bed. Wilson walked into the bedroom to find House already sitting atop the bed in a pair of boxers and a ragged tee shirt. It had surprised him because he knew House didn't like showing his leg off and that's exactly what the boxer shorts did.

Instead of climbing into bed like he normally would, Wilson walked up to House's side of the bed and knelt so that his chest was even with House's legs. He gently ran his hands over the damaged thigh, every once in a while looking up only to find House watching at him intently almost as though he expected Wilson to hurt him. He started with tender massages, wanting to relax not only the muscle that had begun to spasm beneath his touch from its owner tightening it but to relax the owner as well, hoping to assure House that he had no intention of causing him harm.

Once he'd felt the muscle relax, Wilson had bent down and placed several loving kisses upon the long, jagged scar then got up and gave House a long, soulful kiss on the mouth as he brought his body onto the bed so he could straddle the older man, careful not to place too much weight on the thigh.

That was the night he'd managed to show House that he didn't care about the scar or the misshapen 'thing' that was his thigh. He loved it because it was a part of House and he loved House more than he'd ever loved anyone. Sure he wished with all his heart he could heal the damage that had been done and take away the pain his friend was experiencing daily but he knew there was nothing he could do so he settled for taking care of the man as much as he physically and emotionally could.

Stinging pain briefly scorched his back were the knife scratch was currently complaining about the change of position as the skin was stretched, bringing Wilson back into the present and making him wince.

"You okay?" House asked, immediately alert to Wilson's pain.

"Yeah, I was off in La La land and wasn't expecting it that's all," Wilson dismissed easily with a one-shouldered shrug and a half smile. He looked down at himself, at the mess of bandages and bruises then looked at his two friends. "So, how are we going to do this?"

Cuddy immediately left to grab a wheelchair and pushed it as close to Wilson's bed as she could get while still leaving room for him to actually get off the bed. "How strong is your other leg?" she asked, concern bringing her eyebrows together and saddening her eyes. "Do you think you could hold yourself up enough to sit down or should I call an orderly to help?"

Wilson bent his knee testing for pain and range of motion. He didn't really want to have to call an orderly because it would only create more questions for when he got home and it was just him and House alone but he wasn't about to stubbornly try to hold himself up only to fall immediately to the floor and risk causing more damage either.

He received a painful twinge in response to his test but felt confident that he'd be fine. "I think I'll be okay," he answered at last, slowly lowering his most injured leg to the floor then quickly brought his other leg around and began scooting off the bed just enough to put his right foot onto the floor, silently testing how well his knee would hold up with actual weight bearing. When his knee didn't give out immediately, he slowly placed more weight on the leg, wincing when it twinged but soon he was ready to actually stand.

Realizing that Wilson would need help, Cuddy walked over to her friend and silently slid under his left side, wrapping her hand around his waist and holding on for life as he heavily leant against her. Cuddy considered herself a strong woman but Wilson was not a small man. He wasn't fat by any means but he was a solid guy and therefore weighing down her slender frame. Thankfully she'd put the wheelchair close enough so that she didn't have to hold him up for long.

They got him settled into the chair with a lot of noise and no little amount of groaning on Wilson's part. After making sure that his ankle was elevated and resting on top of a pillow, Cuddy quickly pushed her head of oncology towards the exit while her head of diagnostics followed closely behind. Wilson's breath hitched with every bump they hit making her wish the flooring was smooth so she didn't have to hear the pain but they eventually made it outside where House's car still sat at the entrance.

She helped Wilson out of the wheelchair and into the car then turned to House, commanding, "Don't leave," before she disappeared back into the hospital. When she returned the hospital provided wheelchair remained outside Wilson's car door and House had crawled in the driver's side, peering out Wilson's door with impatience burning brightly in his eyes.

Cuddy opened the back door to House's car and placed the two, silver/grey crutches she'd grabbed into the back seat with a loud _clunk. _She moved up to Wilson's door, checked to make sure that all body parts were inside then shut the door, leaning down as the window was rolled down. "I'm not sure if you can use them right now but you will be able to by the time you come back." She paused, frowning in thought. "Do you want me to put the wheelchair in the trunk?"

"No, thank you Cuddy but I think I'll be okay with the crutches," Wilson appeased with a half-awake smile. In truth he wasn't sure he'd be okay with the crutches but she'd done more than enough for him already and he didn't want her doing any more; he just wanted to get home and if it meant using a sore shoulder, wrist, and knee to do it then so be it.

"I'll call you tomorrow to check on you," she promised with a smile.

"Don't you trust me to take care of our little Jimmy?" House asked faking hurt at her suggestion.

"No, I don't," Cuddy answered easily and truthfully. The innocent hurt look on House's face changed to the real thing. She knew that House was going to take as much care of Wilson as he could but she also knew that right now, that wasn't a lot and Wilson would need to keep relatively still in order to prevent causing further damage to his ankle. Much as she didn't like to admit it but when he was injured, her head of oncology DID seem to be a bit accident prone and she didn't really need that right now and neither did Wilson.

"Good night Cuddy," Wilson said in an effort to ignore the mood change and segue into leaving. "Thanks for your help."

The Dean gave a small smile of assent then stepped away from the car, watching as her two most famous (for different reasons) department heads drove off to their shared apartment. She heard House say, "Bitch," just as he drove off but she let it slide, understanding that he was hurt and upset by her lack of faith but she also knew that later on when he was trying to get to sleep, the diagnostician would come to understand her reasoning for asking and answering the way she did and maybe even admit to himself that she was right.

Gregory House could not take care of James Wilson in the way he needed.

**TBC**

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><p><strong>Sorry for the wait! My brain is becoming fried with all the fics I have going so it's taking me longer to update as quickly as some of you would like. I do promise that this will be updated but it certainly won't be speedy. Don't forget to click that little button below that says "Review" and tell me what you think! <strong>


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: I am SO terribly sorry for letting this story sit for so long! My House-writing, Wilson-hurting muse ran away and far but she happily returned after I watched "Transplant" last night. So here is the next chapter – finally! I appreciate your patience, all of you.**

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><p>Wilson released a sigh of relief as he settled against the headboard of their bed. The trip home hadn't been exactly pain free for either of them and while the extreme discomfort was still there, he felt better just for being home. The throbbing in his body made him question the wisdom of refusing the offered wheelchair to get inside the loft but one look at how badly House was hurting dismissed the doubt with the effort of using a bat to kill a spider. He watched with dismay as his friend heavily limped into their bedroom, barely putting weight on his right leg as he went. This wasn't the way things were supposed to have gone tonight – House's leg had been feeling better and now they were right back where they started.<p>

With a heavy sigh full of annoyance and anger, Wilson leaned his head against the headboard behind him with a hard thunk. The soft mattress beneath him was almost enough to lull him into a restless doze but the bed dipping to his right made him want to stay awake. He wished there was _something_he could do to help House but he didn't have neither the strength in his hands nor the ability to move without pain to do so, so he remained on his half of the bed, watching his friend and lover intensely until the older man was lying flat on the bed with relaxation slowly smoothing out the lines of pain on his face.

Wilson's own eyelids began drooping when they saw House's close. He'd done a fair amount of sleeping while in the ER but his body still demanded more. Deciding it was best to give in rather than fight it, the oncologist allowed his body to relax as much as it could and began to lightly doze. A soft hand on his right arm drew his eyes open, the gentle brown irises slowly gliding across the bed until they landed on House's sideways form.

"Lay down," the diagnostician commanded gently but evenly. He knew that Wilson was exhausted but he also knew his friend's back wouldn't forgive either of them if he was allowed to sleep upright all night, and probably morning, long. When Wilson merely blinked dazedly at him he gave his friend's arm a gentle tug, making sure to keep any emotion from his eyes when the injured man winced. He watched stoically on the sidelines as Wilson shimmied down the bed, little gasps escaping when he put too much weight on an injury. His body wanted nothing more than to help ease his lover down thereby lessening the pain but his thigh demanded that he remain where he was and leave it be.

Once Wilson was lying flat on the bed, House ran a practiced eye over the long and lean form of his lover wishing they both were up to more than just laying there. His eyes stopped on every injury, seen or unseen, trying to determine if they were indeed minor or if there was more to them. The ankle of course wasn't minor but it wasn't life threatening either. Sure he'd be in pain for a week until they could get the limb inside a protective cast then for another few days after that until the swelling around the ankle had gone down enough for the fiberglass to be comforting rather than suffocating but pain was nothing – even if it was Wilson who was experiencing it.

Wilson let out a small breath of relief and House nodded his approval at his friend's condition. He settled down on the bed, waiting until he heard the deep, even breathing from next to him before he allowed his body to completely relax and fell asleep.

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><p>The comfortable silence of sleep was broken by a cry of panic and fear that echoed through the loft that both men thought more of as an apartment. The mattress jerked as one of its occupants began to thrash and fidget, fighting an attacker only he could see. House woke with the cry, instantly alert to anything wrong concerning Wilson. He turned on his side with a groan of his own and wrapped a long arm around Wilson's torso, pulling the younger man towards him heedless of the pain it might cause.<p>

"Wilson," House called gruffly, his voice rough with the disuse of sleep. Wilson continued to thrash within his hold coming dangerously close of causing them both a great deal of pain as his left leg came up to kick, barely missing House's thigh. "Wilson!" House tried again, putting more volume and urgency into his voice in the hopes of getting through to the frightened man.

With a final cry Wilson woke from his nightmare world, the one he's come to cherish slowly swimming into view. In response to his panic, his body immediately bolted upright barely noticing the pain the wrenched through his shoulder when a familiar arm was torn off him. His breaths were ragged as his lungs shakily drew in the air and his heart pounded far too quickly. Frightened brown eyes looked about the room, searching for a foe that had never been there. The feeling of water dripping onto his shirt told him he was crying but he couldn't feel the tears as they ran down his cheeks. The only thing his mind could focus on was being safe.

He carefully laid back down, curling so closely into House's waiting arms that one could think they were joined by more than their love but he didn't care. He needed to be safe and to him, House was as safe as he could get. The same arm from before wrapped around him, this time careful of where it was placed, and held onto him tightly as he simply shook and cried from fear.

House remained silent as his lover expelled his anxiety and panic. He wanted ever so dearly to soothe Wilson's worries but he had never truly been good at comforting someone in pain (thus why he never tried) and knew that anything he said in an attempt to try would be taken the wrong way so he stayed quiet, allowing his loving embrace say everything that he couldn't. Ever so slowly he felt Wilson's shaking begin to cease until only the remaining vibrations in his hands were left.

"Care to tell me what happened?" he asked. His tone was gentle though his words were accusing and he ran his left hand idly up and down the small portion of Wilson's back he could reach, hoping to show that he wasn't angry and genuinely wanted to know.

"I, y-yes but," was all the reply that House received even still he understood. Wilson _wanted_to tell him but things were still too fresh for his friend to do it comfortably. He gave a nod that he knew the oncologist had felt through his thick brown locks and simply gave a cautious squeeze.

"Okay," he answered softly, leaning his chin on the top of Wilson's head. Suffocating silence settled over the room, blanketing them with feelings so heavy they could barely breathe. Normally silence didn't bother House but he knew that, left to his own devices, Wilson could work himself up into a full blown panic attack so he decided to bring some focus to both of their frantic minds. "Did you hurt anything with your epileptic seizure impression?"

"I don't know," Wilson mumbled into his shirt making no effort to move. There was a pause as he inhaled deeply then released the breath with shudders ransacking it. "Everything hurts."

House's breath hitched at those words. If Wilson had inquired at the action, the diagnostician would have simply brushed it of as pain radiating from his burning thigh but though the damaged muscle throbbed agonizingly it paled in comparison to the pain that stabbed through his heart. Taking a deep breath to recover his normal self, House carefully disentangled himself from Wilson. "Well let's get us some pain meds then I can check you out just in case."

He grabbed their individual doses and prescriptions of pain meds then swallowed his dry before handing Wilson's to him with a cup of water that had been on the bedside table since God only knows when. Wilson gave him a raised eyebrow at the drink, silently indicating that he knew it had sat there for awhile but also asking if it was safe to drink before he popped the medication into his mouth and took a long swallow.

"Great! Now that we're all drugged up, it's touchy feely time!" House pounced on Wilson drawing a tired sigh from the other man but carefully held his own weight just above the hurting body, using his legs to support him while he ran his hands over every injury, beginning with the shoulder and working his way down. He wondered who was controlling him as he ended each exam with feather light kisses. Getting to Wilson's legs wasn't a problem given all he had to do was turn around but though he was a doctor, it was difficult to examine someone when they were upside down – even if it was only in your perspective. Still, he managed it quite easily and even continued his apologetic kisses, giving one to the agitated knee he'd just finished annoying. Wilson's ankle was in its protective splint so he didn't see the need to remove it for the examination. Although the splint had done a fine enough job of keeping the broken bones in place when Wilson had thrashed and kicked, he wouldn't be a very good doctor if he simply allowed that to be good enough. He carefully ran his hand over where the break had been feeling for further displacement and quickly withdrew when he felt none.

"Satisfied?" Wilson asked tiredly, his body lax from exhaustion and pain relief. He raised his head to look at House then lowered it again with a sigh.

"Nope," House answered sounding as cheery as he could. He turned around so that his body was facing Wilson's torso and leaned down, hovering just enough above him so that their noses touched. "I still have areas I need to examine; those were just he one requiring immediate attention."

Slowly, he lowered his arms and placed a long, gentle kiss on Wilson's lips before the man had time to respond or deny him the satisfaction of touching him. He withdrew when his lungs demanded air but continued to allow his mouth to perform the "examination" starting with Wilson's face and closed eyelids. The younger man's breath hitched at the teasing kisses and his breath started coming out in quicker successions. When House moved to his neck, giving the tender skin there little love nips, Wilson groaned deep in his chest making House still immediately.

"You okay?" he asked while raising himself up to look over the prone form of his lover. An almost goofy smile appeared on Wilson's face in response but it was the melted chocolate in his eyes that made him continue. Since the oncologist was actually dressed, there weren't many places that House could "examine" without looking a fool so he stopped soon after he started, gently lowering himself back onto the mattress with a heavy sigh. He so dearly wanted to do more, including getting Wilson naked, but right now wasn't the time for it. They were both exhausted, hurting and just in need of some comfort. He wrapped himself around Wilson, careful of hurting either one of them, and simply held on with all his might.

His mind ran through all the ways things could have been so much worse, beginning with the little things like there could have been more than one guy and ending with Wilson lying in the parking lot, dead from blood loss or some other trifling thing. Somewhere in there was the possibility that the attacker could have done so much more than beat his friend and he instinctively curled tighter around the man. Protection and possession swirled through him at the thought of _anyone_other than him laying a "loving" hand on Wilson. Shivers ran through his spine as images of some faceless man assaulting his friend and he could only hope that nothing like that had happened. Wilson didn't seem to be traumatized that badly but with the man who was almost as good as compartmentalizing as he was, you could never be too sure.

Whether his own shivers transferred from him to the man he was holding or it was from persistent, tormenting dreams, House didn't know but not five minutes after he started, Wilson began to shake. Drawing the blankets up around them, House snuggled closer to Wilson, thankful that the man himself wasn't awake to tease him about it later. His hands ran over Wilson's left side, carefully but soothingly while he hummed an old blues tune into the man's ear. Almost as quickly as they began, the shakes stopped and Wilson's breathing became smooth once again.

All through the night House never released his friend, scared of what might happen to him if he did. He took the safety and comfort of his friends and family very seriously and when the two were denied, he reacted with a vicious tongue towards all until the guilty party could be found and dealt with accordingly. He would never take his anger – which was aimed a great deal towards himself – out on Wilson but everyone else would not be so lucky when he returned to work.

Gentle rays of morning sunlight shone through the window in the bedroom, slowly coaxing him into the familiarity of safety and convincing him it was okay to turn his protective watch over to the promising sun and new day that was beginning to dawn. His eyelids began to droop of their own accord and soon he was asleep, trusting the daylight to bring comfort to Wilson when he woke.

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><p><strong>I realize this is short given how long it's been since I updated but I thought this a good place to end the chapter. <strong>


	4. Chapter 4

Morning sun peered cautiously through the bedroom windows, splashing light in places where mere minutes before there had been none. The light was soft as it slowly crept along the floorboards, up to the bed and onto Wilson's face, gently lapping across his features like a sea sweeping across the rocks at its floor. The man in question squinted against it's brightness but didn't wake, choosing instead to simply turn his head away from the light. House watched all this with a fascination that he wouldn't have bothered feeling had it happened just over a week ago. Things were different now though.

He found himself stealing glances over at Wilson simply to make sure the man was still there. During the workday, he craved to hear Wilson's voice in his ear no matter what the words, merely to assure him that things were still okay and the oncologist was alright. When it was obvious that something was wrong, House was more stretched than usual about it often taking it out on his team and any clinic patient who happened to be unfortunate enough to get him. If he was able to, he left work earlier to check on Wilson at home, wanting to make sure the man was taking things easy like he was supposed to and not in too much discomfort. Of course, _all_of this was done in his usual, snarky way so that it every action was more of a disturbance to everyone around him rather than the doting actions they were.

Last night had been another night full of unnamed nightmares, unshared fears, and unconcealed pain. Still, House hadn't found himself able to fall back asleep as he normal could. He knew he would regret it in the morning when it came time to go to work but his body wouldn't cooperate and fall back asleep. His mind was too busy running through the hundreds of situations where things could have been much worse and even when he managed to silence those thoughts, anxiety for today had taken over making it damn near impossible to relax.

Today is Wilson's first day back since the attack and House knew _he_was more worried about it than the oncologist. He chided himself angrily over and over again for being so concerned over such a simple little thing – after all, he wasn't going to be able to lock Wilson up in a high tower with only his hair to climb as an entrance. His singing voice wasn't _that_good – but no matter how much he growled, screamed and berated himself, he still worried about allowing Wilson to leave. _So_many things could go wrong and House had imagined every single one of them.

Over the last week, Wilson's shoulder and wrist had healed nicely, hardly bothering him as he crutched his way around the loft; his knee had healed long before the pulled muscle and the sprained wrist. House wanted to keep Wilson at home for at least another week – the man had just barely had the hard cast applied to his ankle for God's sake – but it had been a fight over the past couple of days just to keep Wilson off his feet for more than a couple of hours; he knew that keeping the oncologist at home _wasn__'__t_an option.

The man beside him stirred absently, bushy eyebrows drawing together in pain before his brain could stop them. There was a heavy sigh then chocolate brown irises opened to stare into House's own cerulean ones.

"Uh, hey?" Wilson ventured hesitantly, fully confused as to why House was not only awake before him but also staring openly at him. Had he done something wrong to disturb the older man? Last night's nightmarish adventure came back to him, making him blush in embarrassment and shame. "I'm sorry for waking you last night." _Again._

House sighed, frustrated that the younger man didn't seem to listen to him at all. Was this how Wilson felt daily? "I'll tell you one last time then I'll print business cards – stop apologizing. I slept fine." The last statement was an all-out lie and they both knew it but House continued before Wilson could call him on it. "I _do_wish you would tell me what happened."

The guilt from earlier deepened from the depth of a shallow puddle to that of the ocean and House almost apologized for causing it. He wasn't trying to guilt Wilson into telling him about the attack – he wasn't Cameron or Cuddy after all – but the statement was the truest thing he'd spoken since Wilson had woken up. It was more than mere curiosity that kept him dying to know what had happened. While he didn't normally buy into all that psychological bull crap – Freud can go to hell! – he knew that purging Wilson's mind of the traumatizing event would help him heal quicker.

The physical injuries were the only injuries that were healing; yes they were healing quite quickly but House knew that the process would only slow from here on out if they didn't address the emotional injuries as well. His nose actually wrinkled in disgusted anticipation of the conversations they would eventually have; emotions weren't his strong suit and he was okay with that. More than the disgust was keeping him from pushing the subject though – he was also nervous. He knew Wilson would become weepy with the topic and House didn't honestly know if _he_could stop himself from becoming just as emotional.

He saw Wilson open his mouth to apologize once more and the diagnostician did the only thing he could think to do – he covered Wilson's mouth with his, stalling any words in their tracks. When he pulled away both of them were panting for air but the gloomy feeling in the room was gone, the brightening sun helping to brighten the room as well as the mood.

"Now, what's for breakfast?" House asked as he rolled over and popped a couple Vicodin.

"Uh, coffee and Vicodin doesn't count?" Wilson answered with a sly smile. He was mainly referring to House's choice of breakfast but, with the exception of the strength of medicine, he was more than willing to eat that as well. His stomach was tossing side to side like a boat on a treacherous and stormy sea, threatening to overthrow everything in it if he even attempted to add more to it.

House leveled a glare at him strong enough to rival the one his mother would give him when he asked to be allowed to celebrate both Christmas and Chanukah. He sighed, unhappy but resigned to the fact that his currently overprotective boyfriend was going to make him eat something and ran a hand over his face, hoping to scrub some energy and wakefulness into his body. "And I'm assuming you want _me_to make it."

"Why Jimmy, I'm hurt!" House cried in mock offense as he pulled on a pair of half-wrinkled jeans and threw an even more wrinkled tee over his head. "I would never dream of making an injured man make me breakfast. _But_if you're offering, I wouldn't say no to a stack – or two or three – of those macadamia nut pancakes you're so fond of making."

"I'm not _fond_of making them as you so quaintly put it," Wilson objected, gingerly rolling up to a sitting position on the edge of the bed. "I make them so often because _you_want them so much."

"Can I help it if you make something so completely delicious they should be named 'Disks of Heaven Shaped like Pancakes'?" House countered putting on a too innocent face. He tossed some clothes towards his friend then gave a smile. "Come on and get up. If you're good I may even let you make me eggs and bacon to go along with them."

Wilson groaned and very nearly lay back down. He wasn't entirely sure that House was serious but right now he wasn't about to discount the idea either. He gazed longingly at the shower in the bathroom but after looking at the clock, he realized that he didn't have time. Getting clean was now a chore more than it was a treat. Usually he used the shower to wake him up, ease his aching muscles, and get him ready for the coming day but with the cast on his ankle, he now had to tape up the lower half of his leg and carefully maneuver himself around just to clean his back or hair. It was, overall, a pain the ass.

Resigning himself to taking a shower when he got home tonight, Wilson donned the work pants and dress shirt House had tossed him, struggling only slightly with fitting the cloth over his casted leg. He'd known exactly what today was so he had spent the past couple of days splitting the left side of a few pairs of pants up the side to make room for the cast. He stared at the open toes of his left foot, silently pondering whether he should try to slip a sock over them or not. While it was only September, almost October, it was starting to get colder and colder with every passing day.

"Staring at it won't make the cast go away," House quipped without malice from the doorway causing Wilson to startle briefly.

"I'm not trying to make it disappear, House," Wilson grumbled scoldingly. "I'm trying to decide if I want to put a sock over my foot to keep it warm."

House limped further into the room, coming to stand in front of the oncologist while he stared down at the aforementioned foot. The cast hadn't been on that long; it had been applied merely two days ago. Not much of Wilson's left foot was visible, but what was seen was obviously swollen. It wasn't a horrible amount for right now but he knew it would get worse throughout the day. He gave a non-committal shrug in response to Wilson's technically unasked question.

Wilson rolled his eyes at House's unspoken response. He hadn't really expected much of an answer but he'd hoped for something at least. He waved a hand towards his dresser, "Hand me a pair of socks – black."

"You're such a girl," House commented as he grabbed the requested items then came over to sit down in front of his friend. He gently pulled Wilson's left leg onto his lap and gave the exposed toes a little tickle before he applied the sock over the foot. "What would you have done if I grabbed a white pair?"

"I would have changed it out."

"Why?"

"I can't wear socks that don't match my pants," Wilson objected, wincing when he realized just how prissy he sounded. He and House began to walk out to the kitchen where a cup of coffee was waiting for each of them alongside a plate of toast.

"Why not? It's not like anyone's going to be looking at your feet," House countered around a piece of toast. He chewed and swallowed the bit then took another, patiently waiting for Wilson to answer.

"You do," the oncologist answered lamely, avoiding his friend's gaze while he took a quick drink of coffee.

"True but that's just because I like you. I doubt any of your immuno-compromised patients really care; they're too busy worrying about their own health to notice their doctor's socks don't match his pants."

"You like me, so you like to look at my feet?" Wilson asked with furrowed eyebrows, deftly changing the subject from his prissy dressing habits to House's poor wording.

The diagnostician simply shrugged. "What can I say? I like you're feet." There was a pause of silence in which Wilson did his best not to burst out laughing then House continued. "Time to go gimpy. Grab your crap and let's go."

"Gimpy?" Wilson argued. "You're one to talk."

"I'm crippled, I have an excuse. You on the other hand just look pathetic." House pulled on his backpack then grabbed Wilson's briefcase which was stuffed full with patient's files and drug trial advocate files. He waited at the front door for Wilson to join him.

"Pathetic? Really? I'll bet you that I can get more people to fawn over me than you."

House sneered at the bet but didn't take it. If there as one thing Wilson was a master of – it was having almost the entire nursing staff fawn over him if he is injured or sick. Even _if _House was nice to the lot of them, he still wouldn't have a chance in hell of winning the bet.

"I don't think so," he answered while they walked out to the car. "That's a fool's bet and, as I have mentioned many times again, I am no fool."

Wilson climbed into the passenger side of the car, House still unwilling to allow the oncologist to drive, signaling the end of the conversation and talking in general. House slammed the door closed then crawled into the driver's side. He gave the man beside him on last concerned look, silently asking if the younger man was alright before he put the car into "drive" and headed in the direction of the hospital.

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><p>Four hours and one placating conversation with the Dean of Medicine later, Wilson laid his head down on his desk, the echoing thump sounding through the emptiness of his office. His day hasn't really been that busy so far but it has been just as tiring.<p>

When he'd first arrived, he had tolerated the many stops from the front doors to his office, thanking those that wished him feel better and assuring those that asked if he was alright. He'd made it to his office without incident and immediately went about returning his hundreds of calls and emails. Two hours later, he'd only made a dent but his assistant, Jocelyn, had called to tell him his first patient of the day was here to see him so he'd reluctantly gotten up and met them in reception. Each pounding step sent vibrations through his broken ankle; while the case did help absorb most of them, it still hurt. It had been hard not to sigh with relief when he'd sat down behind his desk again but he'd managed it. Now he simply sat there, doing his best to ignore the uncomfortable throbbing in his lower left leg and trying to keep his eyes open.

"Lunchtime!" an all too cheery voice announced as the owner limped into the office. A brown paper bag dangled from a closed fist, grease beginning to soak into it. An abnormal bulge in the paper told Wilson that along with what he assumed was sandwiches and fries was also a couple cans of Coke.

_At__least __he __doesn__'__t __plan __on__ making __me__ go __and __get __it __with __him,_Wilson thought dryly to himself as he watched House come to stand directly in front of his desk and place the soiled bag on top of his oldest patient's file. _On__ second__ thought, __may be __it __would __have __been __better __if __I __had __gone __with __him._

"Why isn't your leg elevated?" House asked as he marched around the desk and to Wilson's left side.

Wilson sighed. He loved House, he truly did but he was getting a little tired of the over protective version. "It's a little hard to fit a chair under my desk so I can put my ankle on top of it."

"So you can fit a buxom blonde under there when it suits you but not a chair?" House countered easily and with a disbelieving tone in his voice.

"I have never shoved anyone under my desk," Wilson responded with enough indignance in his posture and spluttering in his voice to put Bill Clinton to shame. When House's lip curled upwards into a smile and his eyes lit up in a challenging _would__ you __like __to_ sort of way, Wilson scrubbed his hands over his face again and breathed heavily out of his mouth. "And besides, a person can curl into a ball, a chair does not give."

"So you _have_ thought about it? The shoving a person under your desk thing not the chair thing," House answered immediately as he brought a spare chair from around Wilson's desk to behind it, seating himself down on top of it and gathering Wilson's left leg onto his lap.

Wilson spluttered again, this time from not wanting to admit that yes, he had thought about but failed miserably as the incoherent mumbling was enough for House to know the truth. He watched with confused curiosity as House placed his aching ankle into his lap and proceeded to gently pull the thick, black sock off the cast, exposing his swollen toes in the process.

Long pianist fingers tapped there way across the puffy phalanges, tickling the bottoms of his toes as they danced out a merry tune. The muscles in his foot jerked in response to the sensitive caresses, causing brief spikes of pain to sound from the injured portions of his ankle. The smallest of eye twitches was the only reaction he gave to the pain, preferring House's touch any day of the week.

Amazingly the fingers, which had long since stopped their musical tapping, were now beginning to knead the exposed portion of his foot. He raised an inquiring eyebrow at House but since the man wasn't currently looking at him, Wilson suspected on purpose, he missed the look entirely and continued only for a few seconds longer before getting up and placing Wilson's leg back down on the chair.

The sound of the cast hitting the hard chair echoed through the empty room and Wilson actually winced when the brief contact echoed painfully through his broken bones. House offered him an eye twitch of apology then quickly grabbed the only throw pillow that lay on his couch and placed it under his foot.

"Now _leave _it there," the diagnostician instructed, placing extra emphasis on the word leave as though Wilson were a complete idiot. He quickly replaced the sock back over he exposed toes and went back to his spot on the other side of the desk and began pulling out the food, placing it in random spots on the top.

House chewed the bite of his sandwich loudly, every once in awhile shoving a fry or two into his mouth along with it. There was a normal silence in the office but it currently disturbed him. Silence was only good when it was agreed to by both parties; the only reason he and Wilson weren't currently talking was because Wilson refused to say anything and House was eating. … Wait a minute – why wasn't Wilson eating too?

"You aren't hungry?" House asked, pointing at the had noticed Wilson's lack of appetite. "Got you your favorite – a Reuben."

Wilson had had to do his best to _not _point out that Reubens were in fact _House__'__s _favorite sandwich – not his. It wasn't the diagnostician's fault that he was hurting and in a horrible mood; in fact, for all intents and purposes, House was just trying to cheer him up.

"Sorry," the oncologist apologized tiredly. "I guess I'm just not hungry for a Reuben today."

"What are you hungry for?" House answered immediately, giving Wilson the impression that no matter what he named, House would go get it for him.

He was saved from having to answer by his phone ringing. "James Wilson," Wilson answered evenly.

"Doctor Wilson," Jocelyn's sweet, alto voice called on the other line. "I'm sorry to bother you but Mrs. Murphy is here wishing to see you."

Wilson smiled at the truly apologetic tone in his assistant's voice. She knew that he was at lunch, supposedly eating and taking a break but she also knew that his devotion to his patients often overruled his need for sustenance and so she had called. It had taken _months _to drill that policy into her head when she'd first started. She was a mother of two young boys and enough of a caretaker to have her instincts kick in and try to take care of him. In her opinion, patients can wait another thirty minutes while he gets some much deserved time to himself and eats a lunch – they aren't going to die during the wait and if they are then they should have gone to the ER rather than to their doctor's office. Actually she reminded him of House in that respect. He suspected that if she could have Jocelyn would have asked the patient, "are you dying?" to which the patient would of course have said yes then she would have amended her question to, "in the next five (or ten, or twenty, or even thirty) minutes?"

"Of course," he answered her unspoken question, the smile of his memories and thoughts warming his voice. "Just give me five minutes then send her in."

"Are you sure? She doesn't seem to be in too terrible of a hurry; I'm sure she wouldn't mind waiting while you finished your lunch with Doctor House."

Both House and Wilson smiled at her subtle hint to both the patient and him but still Wilson waved it away. "Yes I'm sure. Doctor House and I were just finishing." House threw him a look that was a cross between hurt and anger but complied with the silent command and began cleaning up the mess from the meal. Just as Wilson was about to bid his assistant good bye, House grabbed the phone.

"Hey, Joce, listen, can you tell that patient that it won't kill her to wait another ten minutes and if it was going to she shouldn't be here?" Wilson heard the throaty laugh from his assistant (one that often drove most men pleasantly crazy with pleasure) but he couldn't distinguish what she was saying. A rare but true smile formed on House's face and for a moment Wilson was jealous. Normally only _he_could draw that smile out of House but somehow Jocelyn had managed to do it with almost as much ease as himself. Wilson wasn't sure he wanted House and Jocelyn to become friendly – it didn't bode well for _him_if they did.

House hung up the phone without another word and continued to smile while he stared at Wilson. "She says she can hold Mrs. Whatever-her-name-is off for another ten minutes so we can talk, and eat. Speaking of eating! Why aren't you doing it?"

"I don't know," Wilson lied easily while managing to make the question sound as absurd as it actually was. "I'm just not hungry. Why? Is there some medical mystery here I'm not aware of? Because as far as I know, not eating is not symptomatic of anything but lack of hunger."

"True," House countered just as easily and almost immediately, "but lack of hunger is symptomatic of many things – I just need to figure out which one it is that _you__'__re_ suffering from."

"House, nothing's wrong with me! I have a broken ankle which means that I'm on some good pain meds which make my stomach uneasy. It's perfectly normal for someone to not want to eat while they're taking heavier pain medication."

House closed his mouth, which had previously been opened to argue, and took a good long glance at his friend. He couldn't shake the feeling that there was something deeper than simple upset stomach but he also couldn't deny that Wilson's answer made sense – was logical even. Damn him for being logical when House wasn't!

"Fine," he considered more evenly than he actually felt. He straightened up to his full height, barely leaning on his cane then walked to exit the office, conveniently leaving the bag of food on the top of Wilson's desk. He left without another word, leaving the rest of his sentence unspoken and looming threateningly over the oncologist.

Wilson watched his lover leave with a heavy heart. Anger burned in his eyes and veins, heating his blood to scalding point. He didn't know _why_he was so angry at his friend's insistence that there was something more going on – seeing as there was. For just a moment he allowed the pain, weariness, panic, and fear he actually felt to show on every portion of his body then quickly reeled it all in, tucking it away in a lead box, sealed with melted titanium and thirty different locks on the outside.

He had just managed to school his features into his best "oncologist" face as Mrs. Lena Murphy walked through the door.

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><p><strong>AN: <strong>I apologize for any and all mistakes in this chapter. FF has decided to _not _add spaces after italicized words and I didn't notice it until halfway through the chapter so if there are more, I'm sorry. Also, I could use a beta to help with my House fics if any of you are willing to do that; I would be _very _grateful. :)

I also apologize if any characters are OOC. This story seems to have a mind of its own and doesn't care if everyone is acting like themselves or not. :/ Hope you still like it though. Please review and let me know!

**Mary Lou - **thank you so much for all of your reviews on my stories! I would have responded to many of them but, well, I couldn't. :/ *hugs*


	5. Chapter 5

_He walks along the path to PPTH, wincing with every step he makes on his right leg and scowling at every person he passes. The scowl isn't really for much other than to let them know he doesn't like them and is mad at them but it's a useless gesture since they don't actually care about him; still, he continues to do it anyways. He had to park further way today thanks to some moron having taken his spot and being unable to find a closer one than the one he chose. _At least it's closer than where Wilson parks_, he thinks automatically, absently wondering why the oncologist didn't come home last night. _The idiot probably spent the night in his office,_ he dismisses easily, still continuing on his trek to the building._

_A flash of brown to his left captures his eye and for a moment he debates whether or not to go and check it out. Brown in New Jersey isn't all that uncommon but the fact that the brown seemed to be a shoe amidst green and orange is. In the end his curiosity – and not a little bit of medical training – wins out and he's limping over to the massive bush off to the side of the parking lot._

_The body beneath the bush is un recognizable beneath the bruises and blood that cover its flesh but the bushel of brown hair lying just to the right and on top of the forehead is; as are the chocolate brown eyes that are now staring lifelessly back at him._

Wilson!_ his mind screams, a wail so loud he's surprised the entire country hasn't heard it. His medical instincts are yelling at him to jump into action and do anything he can to save his friend but the normal, detached part of him says, "It's no use – he's dead." Still, House can't stop himself from kneeling down in the dirt and reaching out to feel for a pulse. As expected, no such heart beat can be felt beneath the ice cold flesh and his heart shatters into millions of tiny pieces right then and there. Tears flow out of his eyes and, for a moment, he wonders why he's so quickly able to accept the fact that his lover and best friend of over 20 years is dead; but the part of his mind that is too busy grieving doesn't care – it just knows that Wilson's dead._

_House finds that he can no longer stand to stare at the broken and beaten body beneath him and looks away, using a shaky hand to pull out his cell and call the only person he has in his life now._

_"House," Cuddy answers, her disembodied voice mixing alarmingly with a clearer version. Something shakes his shoulder but he shrugs it off thinking it's someone trying to pull him away from "the body", from Wilson._

_"House!" Cuddy calls again, this time sounding both more alarmed and insistent. The haze of the memory slowly fades into swirls of paint with only the body of his best friend and lover staying constant._

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><p>House sits upright on the medical examination bed with a speed that surprises both he and the Dean of Medicine who was sitting over him, calling his name. His breathing is erratic and uneven, his lungs unable to draw the full amount of air into themselves while he panics. Ice blue eyes focus hastily on Cuddy, silently begging her to tell him it was just a dream and that Wilson's alright but no words escape his mouth. He looks around almost frantically, briefly wondering where he is before he remembers that Adolph Cuddy had roped him into an extra three hours of clinic duty, promising to allow him an extra day off if he complied.<p>

"House, are you alright?" Cuddy asks, stepping forward slightly and putting her arm on the back of his shoulder. Gray-blue irises filled with concern looked down on him and House found himself almost cringing away from the dreaded emotion.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he answers, proud of himself for sounding one hundred, thousand times more cheery than he actually felt. "Got a case for me?"

"You already have a case," Cuddy says in a tone that suggested he should have known that, or at the least remembered that.

He gave her his best "innocent face" and kept staring, refusing to answer in case it should implicate him in something nefarious. Not that he minded being implicated but usually the accusations were from Wilson who didn't have the power to sentence him with more clinic duty, whereas Cuddy did.

Silence stretched throughout the room until it comfortably settled over everything within. He could tell that Cuddy was trying to play his game and win but unlike Cuddy, he was raised in a house where the longer you stayed quiet, the better it was for all involved and so could easily outlast her in a silence contest. He's proven right when the Dean lets out a heavy sigh full of frustration accompanied by an eye roll.

"The police just called," she began, sounding for all the world like being in contact with the New Jersey PD was a common occurrence. "They found Wilson's attacker."

If there was anything that could have come out of her mouth and grabbed his attention faster than the top speed at the Indy 500, it was that. Sharp blue eyes focused onto her, narrowing slightly as he waited for her to continue. His heart, which had slowly began to calm, was rising in pace once again, pounding so hard it hurt. _Please __tell __me __the __bastard__'__s __alive __so __I __can __kill __him, _he prayed desperately.

"He was found beneath a bush a couple blocks over, dead; shot several times in the torso. Apparently he tried to mug the wrong person." Her words were indifferent but her voice was soft, comforting. She waited a couple heartbeats before she gave his shoulder a squeeze and asked, "Do you want to tell him or should I?"

Though there was comfort in her voice, House heard the doubt she wouldn't openly express. He couldn't blame her really. Over the years, and even lately, he hadn't been the best friend to Wilson he should have been or could have been. He'd always been a misanthropic bastard; the only difference between then and now is that he's a _crippled_misanthropic bastard. The infarction didn't change anything in his personality or thought processes. Three quarters of the hospital wondered why Wilson was friends (and now boyfriends) with House and the diagnostician couldn't help but be curious as well. It didn't make one bit of sense, calling into question Wilson's rational mind with ease. But no matter his reasons, House was just glad he stuck around.

House really wanted to tell her to break the news to Wilson – after all, the man was probably going to end up crying or something and House really didn't want to deal with that – but something told him that _he_should be the one to do it. Resigning himself to a lot of tears and uncomfortable emotions, House nods his affirmation that he'll do it then slowly eases off the examination chair, grimacing as hot, stabbing pain lances up his thigh.

Cuddy stands back, watching him with a hawk's eye as he stands and stretches out the last bit of sleep remaining in his muscles. It was obvious she thought he was the last person who should be delivering this news. He was fine with that; he really didn't want to be the one delivering it either but neither of them thought that Wilson would want to hear this from anyone else other than House. Sometimes it sucked being the oncologist's best friend and lover but House wouldn't trade it for anything in the world.

Without another word to his boss and friend, House limps out of the exam room and heads straight for Wilson's office. The trip was short, most of his time spent in the walk from the clinic to the elevators and all too soon, House found himself in front of Wilson's mahogany door.

He raised his hand to knock then looked at it like it was crazy for the action. House doesn't knock; House never knocks. So why was he going to begin to do so now? Instead he lowers his hand and barges in, silently relieved when he finds the oncologist alone in his office. He slams the door shut behind him, locking it as soon as it latches then limps over to the couch where he plops down with the grace of an elephant. With his cane between his legs, House merely sits on the couch and stares at his friend.

Wilson is sitting behind his desk, half bent over while he awkwardly writes his notes in a patient's file. His legs are crossed at the ankles and folded beneath the chair. Their position looks uncomfortable to House but he doesn't comment on it. It's been almost a month since the attack and the ankle fracture was healing well; after another couple of weeks Wilson would be able to have the cast removed so it wasn't necessary for him to keep the leg elevated as much as he had when he'd first started back at work.

When Wilson doesn't even look up at his entrance or acknowledge that he's sitting on the couch, House finally decides that it's time to say something.

"Why don't you turn the papers so you don't have to bend your wrist?" Okay, not even close to what he was here to talk about but with Wilson it was better to ease into things.

Wilson looks up at House at this, his hand mid-scrawl and his mouth open. He stares at House for a minute or so then looks down at his left hand. His eyebrows form a solid line as he draws them together in confusion. "I don't know. This is just the way I learned to write."

"Mm.. You should try turning the paper. I've heard it's easier and it's not half so weird looking."

"You think the way I write looks weird?" Wilson counters slowly. House could tell that he was trying to work through to the real reason why House was currently in his office but he could also see that no such reason was forthcoming. Wilson dropped his pen to his desk, using the hand to pinch the bridge of his nose instead and let loose a heavy sigh. "What do you want House?"

"Why so grumpy Jimmy? Who says I didn't come in here just to see how you're doing?"

"Because it's you and I know you. There are only three reasons you barge into my office during the workday. Either, you're trying to hide from Cuddy, you need an inspiration for your case, or you're hungry. Cuddy already caught up with you earlier this morning so you wouldn't be hiding from her. I'm willing to bet that you didn't know that you had a case and while I'm sure you're hungry, you would have announced that right from the beginning if that was the main purpose. So why don't you just tell me what it is you want and allow me to get back to work?"

House remained silent, not wanting to admit that Wilson was right. Not only would that make him sound like a horrible friend, which he was but there was no reason to outwardly admit it, but it would concede that he did have a reason for coming. When Wilson never wavered in his demanding stare, House shrugged, knowing he was defeated.

"The police called," he began slowly, choosing to gently break the news rather than his usual preference of blunt honesty. "They found your attacker. He's dead." Okay so that wasn't the whole truth but Wilson didn't really need to know the specifics.

What little color Wilsonhad drained from his face at the mention of the accident and his attacker. For the most part, the oncologist refused to speak to House about the whole affair which was perfectly fine with House; he didn't want to deal with an emotional Wilson at the best of times let alone after such an event as this one. But no matter how much he had tried to hide it, House knew that he still nightmares every night. The rattle of the bed could have been from anything but the distinct erratic breathing of his friend couldn't.

Wilson's normally expressive eyes were blank, giving him the 'deer in the headlights' look. House had to stare at his friend's chest just to make sure the man was still breathing, he was so still. At long last, Wilson finally spoke. "And are they sure it's him?"

House winced at how much the oncologist's voice cracked but nodded his head yes. "He'd tried to mug another person about half a mile from here and ended up choosing the wrong person."

The muscle in Wilson's jaw is working overtime, dancing a merry jig as the oncologist reined in his true emotions. No sound escaped his mouth or nose as his breathing began to speed up but his chest bounced up and down, letting House know just how fast he was breathing. His expression was something for House to awe at. Never, in the twenty years he's known Wilson, had his face been as cold as it was now. There had been times when shock had registered on the handsome features but there hadn't ever been nothing. Wilson's face was frozen in stone, giving nothing of what he felt away.

House sat on the couch in shock. He'd expected any number of emotions from his friend but emotionless detachment hadn't even been close to being on the list. He couldn't understand it. Wilson should be relieved – or at the very least angry that the man had died but there was nothing. What the hell was wrong with him?

A shuddering breath echoed through the office as Wilson made his first sound and House instantly knew the younger doctor was shaking. His first instinct was to go over and comfort his friend but it was quickly overridden by his sense of self. He looked away from Wilson, choosing to focus on the dark wood of the door while he waited for the other man to say something. When it became obvious that nothing further would be said between them House simply nodded and left, not bothering to look behind him and see the heartbreaking look of abandonment on Wilson's face.

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><p><strong>AN: I apologize for the short chapter but I thought this was the best place to end it. :) If you're still enjoying this fic, click that little link below that says "Review" and let me know! Thanks! <strong>


	6. Chapter 6

**Hey everyone!**

**I am SO sorry for not completing this fic sooner! I had totally meant to but alas "The Muse" ran away sometime during it and it became a struggle to do so. I haven't had this beta'd as I'm anxious to get it updated/posted/completed so any and all mistakes are mine. **

**I also apologize for how OC House and/or Wilson have been throughout the fic. I realize that some (or all) of Wilson's reactions may have been unrealistic for the character but I couldn't think of a way to write the story without making him (or House) OC. **

**So, without further ado, here is the last chapter for this fic. Again, I am SO sorry for keeping all of you waiting. :) **

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><p>Wilson watched House leave with heavy heart. If ever there was a time when he needed a friend, it had been just now and yet, House had walked away like he couldn't get out of there fast enough. It hurt to know that he meant so little to House when the diagnostician meant so much to him but then again, Wilson found he couldn't be wholly surprised. Though House's actions had often spoke of just how much he cared about Wilson, more often than not, those same actions liked to contradict themselves. Sometimes Wilson just wished House would come right out and say what he was thinking or feeling; he certainly didn't have a problem doing that with anyone else so why was talking to <em>him<em> so hard?

Exhausted by his emotions, the oncologist placed his elbows on his desk, easily cradling his head in his hands. Tears stung his eyes but he refused to let them fall. Now was not the time to get all emotional; he was still at work for God's sake. He had patients to see and rounds to do and a small bit of clinic hours as well; he couldn't afford to have a complete emotional breakdown here and now.

He harshly jerked upright when a knock sounded on his door. After making sure he was presentable enough, he answered, "Come in."

Lisa Cuddy entered looking professional and beautiful. Her hair was pulled back into a neat bun, her clothes were freshly pressed, and her posture was straight and sure. In her gray-blue eyes, though, concern and sympathy burned brightly.

"How are you?" she asked.

"What? No beating around the bush?" Wilson countered with surprise in his voice. He leaned back into his work chair and folded his hands on top of his lap in the relaxed manner he often adapts when someone's in his office. He eyed her with humor in his eyes that he didn't feel; he knew why she was here and there was nothing in the situation that was funny.

"No," Cuddy answered, a slight smile forming on her lips at being caught, "I thought the direct approach would be more appreciated this time."

And he did. It was nice to have someone come out and say exactly what they wanted. While House often gave the impression of being blunt, with his friends (or friend as it were) he would be blunt but only with certain subjects. If the diagnostician actually wanted something – information, money, to inquire after one's well-being – he would beat around the bush, talk about everything else but while he gleaned what he could from your actions rather than your words.

"Well, thank you but I'm fine."

Cuddy's eyes went from concerned to scoffing in a matter of seconds. "You know," she said as she sat down across from his desk, "I'm being blunt and honest with you. The least you could do is return the favor."

Wilson smiled, knowing she was right. But it was in his nature to soothe other people's fears and worries; it was what made him a good oncologist, that and he actually cares about his patients. He once again leaned his elbows onto his desk and rested his head in his hands. Why did he feel so tired all of the sudden?

A small, genteel hand grabbed a hold of his right one, gently pulling it away from his face and laying his arm on top of his desk. His left hand remained upright, still cradling his head, but he looked at Cuddy to find the concern back in her eyes and a willingness to listen if he wanted to talk. And oh, how he did! He needed to talk to someone but for the life of him, he couldn't decide who he could trust and he who he couldn't. Much as he liked Lisa, he didn't consider her a good enough friend to talk about his problems with her; she was more a boss, a colleague, and a partner in House-sitting than she was a confidant to him.

Seeing his walls begin to crumble, Cuddy softly pleaded, "James, talk to me." She squeezed his hand as if to accent her point, making him smile at the show of concern. Letting go of his hand, Cuddy moved over to the couch and gave the cushion next her a soft pat. "Sit."

It wasn't so much a command as a sincere request. Wilson gave her a soft smile and awkwardly got out of his chair. He debated using his crutches to make it the small distance over to his couch but he quickly dismissed it and limped to it instead.

Once on the couch, he breathed a sigh of relief. Not only was the cushion much more comfortable than the hard office chair he owned but the small act of walking with a cast over to his couch had actually worn him out. It was a sad statement that that could tire him out so easily and it made him realize that he needed to get back into some semblance of shape.

"Now," Cuddy prompted once again taking his hand into hers, "tell me everything."

Despite his inner self screaming at him to hold back, Wilson found he could no longer do as it commanded and so unleashed everything he felt over the past month onto Cuddy. He told her about the fear he felt as he was thrown against his car and then pinned there; he told her how helpless he felt when the man forced his body against Wilson's then promise things he didn't want; he told her about his nightly nightmares and House's unwillingness to talk about the attack or Wilson's feelings; and he told her just how much it hurt him that House wouldn't even bother to try.

Cuddy listened attentively to him as he talked, not making a comment throughout the entire thing and for that he was extremely grateful. Only after he was finished did she say anything and then it was only a small bit of advice.

"Talk to House," she suggested evenly and with a knowing look in her eyes. "He may know more than you think."

And with that she left, leaving Wilson to ponder her words for the rest of the work day.

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><p>When House arrived to take them both home for the day, Wilson was still debating the wisdom of Cuddy's words. Sure, House often knew more than he was saying but even if that was the case that doesn't change the fact that the diagnostician has always been overly reluctant to even talk about Wilson's feelings. The few times the two friends have actually had a serious discussion, it was usually immediately followed by some sort of crude joke just so things didn't get too serious and Wilson wasn't sure he could handle that sort of defense mechanism in this situation.<p>

"You ready?" House asked, eyeing Wilson a little closely for the oncologist's comfort.

"Yeah," Wilson answered in a tired sigh. The day had been long to say the least and all he really wanted to do right now was go home and get some good sleep. Unfortunately, thanks to his nightmares, getting a decent amount of sleep every night no longer happened.

He slowly started to gather the work he'd need to finish while at home then put them into his briefcase. The trip home was spent in silence as neither man felt the need to speak. When they got home, Wilson automatically put his coat into the hall closet and placed his briefcase onto the floor before he went into the kitchen and stared into the refrigerator and freezer in hopes of finding some clue about what to make for dinner.

"We do have air conditioning, you know?" House quipped, though his voice lacked his usual snark.

"So that's what the setting on the thermostat is," Wilson exclaimed in fake surprise. "I always wondered about that."

House cocked his head to the side, openly staring at Wilson. The eyelids around his cerulean irises twitched as they took in some mystery about Wilson but no other reaction was given. Instead, the diagnostician simply turned on his heel and headed straight for the couch and TV.

_Figures, _Wilson mentally cursed. If he had to guess, he'd say that House knew something was off about him but he just didn't really want to get into it. _Why couldn't I have a boyfriend who didn't mind being emotional? _

With a sigh that had nothing to do with the abysmal lack of food in the fridge and everything to do with him wondering if he really did want House to try and change a little, Wilson closed the refrigerator door with a dulled thud. He debated hitting his head on it a few times to try and clear the nightmarish memories inside it but he realized it wouldn't help so he settled for tossing his phone at House, satisfactorily smiling when it hit said man in the head, and said, "Order yourself some dinner. I'm going to go to bed."

House stared at him, curiosity, desire, and annoyance swirling in his eyes. He gave one of his trademark nods of assent and answered, "Okay."

Wilson stayed where he was for a moment, staring at House as though expecting the man to suddenly turn around and decide to follow. When no such thing happened, the oncologist heaved another heavy sigh and started making his way to the bedroom. He stopped briefly to grab his briefcase full of work then he headed into the back of the apartment.

The sound of his metallic crutches making contact with the hardwood floor echoed soundly through the hall as he moved, providing a hypnotic rhythm that allowed his mind to switch onto autopilot and drift into the beyond of his dreams.

As he moved about his bedroom and undressed, Wilson could once again feel the hands of the man wrapping themselves around his arms, spinning him round to face the attacker. He could smell the horrible breath and feel the grime of the other's fingers as they rubbed against his suit jacket. His breaths came out in shudders as he felt the ghost of a hand running down his face in what was supposed to be a caress.

Before he knew what was happening, Wilson was on the bed, curled into a person that smelled like House and crying once again. But it wasn't possible to getting comfort from House since House was currently in the living room, watching God only knows what. So who was this new person that was holding him?

"He grabbed you from behind," House said, his voice rumbling through his chest and into Wilson's ear. "Then he pushed you against the car, not allowing you to see his face. You told him where you kept your wallet and what was inside, hoping he would leave but he didn't. He wanted more."

"How did you?" Wilson asked, barely able to get his mind wrapped around the story that House had just spun as though he was reading from a not so kid friendly book.

"Haven't I ever told you that you talk in your sleep?" House asked innocently.

"That must have slipped your mind," Wilson replied dryly. Though he _was _somewhat annoyed with House for not telling him that he knew everything, it felt like a huge weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He now had someone else who could share his nightmares. Someone who understood what had happened and could still assure him that the man wasn't coming back.

"The detail you keep forgetting to focus on is that you fought back," House said, breaking through Wilson's relief with ease. "You keep remembering how much like a victim you felt but the one thing that you conveniently keep forgetting to dwell on is that you fought back and that was the reason why you got away."

"Yeah, that or Chase came."

"Even if Chase had come earlier, he still wouldn't have done anything. The Wombat apparently looks up to you; as long as the man had you in his clutches he wouldn't have done anything that could get you hurt or killed."

"Chase doesn't look up to me. He fears your wrath if something should happen to me and it would be his fault."

House laughed appreciatively. The sound vibrated through Wilson's being, warming his heart. "See? There you go focusing on the wrong thing again."

Wilson laughed at House's comment in spite of himself. It felt good to genuinely laugh; he couldn't remember the last time it had happened.

"So I fought back. That still doesn't erase the rest of what happened," he argued with his partner, stubbornly refusing to give the diagnostician what he wanted.

"That's what drugs and alcohol are for," House replied as though it should have been obvious. "You've already got the drugs part, now you just need the alcohol. There's Scotch in the kitchen, do you want a glass?"

Wilson glared at his friend in response, letting the weight of his glare say everything that he couldn't. He always hated it when House joked about his substance abuse; there was nothing funny about it whatsoever.

For a few minutes, both men sat in absolute silence, each staring at the other. Wilson refused to yield in his glare; he wasn't about to let House off that easy. After what could have been five minutes or twenty, House sighed and pulled away from Wilson. The oncologist half expected him to walk out of the room like he always did so when he simply sat back further onto the bed, Wilson couldn't hide his surprise.

"Did I ever tell you how I felt when I heard about the mugging?" he asked so seriously that Wilson actually had to bite his lip to keep from remarking about how House always had to make things about him.

Now that he thought about it, Wilson didn't actually know how House felt about the whole thing. He always just assumed that House was, of course, glad that Wilson was mostly alright and that was that. Whenever the subject was brought up, there was always such a air of indifference that, despite his best instincts, he actually believed the diagnostician to be indifferent.

"No."

House nodded as though that was the answer he was expecting. Once again his eyelids briefly narrowed into minute twitches that he usually did when he was thinking.

"At first, I was relieved that you were alright. Sure you had a broken bone or two but eventually you'd be fine." He paused for a moment then continued, "Then the nightmares started and through the past four weeks I've begun to piece everything together. Earlier while I was in the clinic-"

"You mean while you were sleeping in the clinic," Wilson corrected with a disapproving look.

"That's what I said," House replied as though the two terms were one in the same. He gave a dramatic eye roll, silently complaining about Wilson interrupting him. "Anyways, before I was so rudely interrupted, I was saying that I had a dream while I was in the clinic."

"You're awfully white to be impersonating Martin Luther King JR."

"Will you shut up and let me tell my story? Or I'll never read to you again."

Wilson chuckled and House's gentle mocking and offered his hands in surrender and a smile of apology.

"I dreamed that about coming into work the day after the attack and finding your body frozen and dead under a bush." House visibly shivered and Wilson instinctively cuddled close to him, providing them both the reassurance and comfort that they needed. "It wasn't until then that I realized how truly terrified I am of losing you." He unconsciously wrapped an arm around Wilson's shoulders and pulled him closer. "I don't think I could handle that." He tightened his grip in a restricting hug. "I love you Wilson. I don't think I could be held responsible for my actions if something should happen to you."

Those words warmed Wilson's heart far easier than anything he's ever heard in his life. He couldn't explain why but he knew that House had meant every word he'd just said and that knowledge was the positively best thing Wilson's heard.

"I love you too House," he said gruffly. He felt like a complete idiot but he couldn't help it; he was crying from joy. Wilson swore he could hear House's eyes rolling into the back of his head.

"I just wanted you to know that you're not alone," he said, managing to make the words sound apologetic though he was more than likely embarrassed. He inhaled deeply in the way he does when he wants to start a completely different conversation. "So, dinner, what do you think?"

Wilson laughed, not surprised by the subject. "Um, let's have some?"

"Sounds like a plan," House conceded. He disentangled himself from Wilson and got out of bed, hissing when his thigh complained about the movement. As quickly as his damaged thigh could move, House scurried out of the bedroom, leaving a very happy, very contemplative Wilson behind him.

* * *

><p>That night, Wilson slept soundly all through the night with House wrapped securely around him. He knew there were more things he needed to do before he'd be even remotely okay and he knew that it would be a long time before he could walk out of the hospital alone without crippling fear but as long as he had House by his side, he knew he wouldn't be alone.<p>

_~fin~ _


End file.
